


A Brave New World

by SaltySoap



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Frontier, Alternate Universe - Historical, Cannibalism, Coming of Age, Corpse Desecration, Cute Kids, Demons, Descent into Madness, Dream Demon, English Pines, F/F, Hermaphrodite Bill Cipher, Historical Inaccuracy, Human Bill Cipher, Illnesses, Illustrated, Illustrations, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insane Dipper Pines, Insanity, M/M, Other, Past Character Death, Past Violence, Plot, Religion, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Witch Curses, a bit saucy, carpentry, hahaha this used to be a T but I really don't know anymore, lots of Mabel + Pacifica, settlers AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 08:50:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9877847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltySoap/pseuds/SaltySoap
Summary: With out home or hearth, the twins make the voyage to America in search of a new life. But Dipper is plagued by strange dreams of a beautiful girl yet unknown...with an insatiable hunger for human flesh.Will their new home in Fort Falls be all they hoped for? An isolated frontier community, where their only living relative, the mysterious, Stan resides. Or will fate elude their happiness once again?Their past haunts them, romance pursues them, and conspiracies unfold as Dipper and Mabel try to make a new home.Settlers AU, so frontier 'mericaAlso includes illustrations...these are meant to be from Dipper's JournalI changed the rating...because I realised this is super dark...





	1. The Voyage

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hi there,
> 
> This my first fan fiction, I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> In this Dipper's gonna be called Mason alot...cause it's his real name and Dipper's mad informal and plot reasons
> 
> Words in italics mean they're Dipper's thoughts
> 
> Also a little funny business (I will say)...It's pretty abstract
> 
> I also am making both romances in this equal, both are important to the plot. I wanted this to be a coming of age story with equal footing, because I greatly enjoy both twins and I think it's a shame most Mabefica is background when its a super cute pairing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prologue. 
> 
> Welcome to ma' first fan fic!
> 
> Notes: Italics are thoughts, Dipper is called Mason mostly because period formality (canon real name), both romances are equal because I love Dipper and Mabel.

All he could hear was a hungering crash. Great white teeth attempted to devour the side of the ship, scattering to foam on its tarred wood. Mason flinched as he was splashed, shuddering at the sticky chill it brought.

 _I hate the sea, h_ e thought clutching the wet balustrade with frustration. He missed the farm’s gentle warmth, the sound of wheat in the breeze, and most of all a hot stove. All he could smell now was salt and iron. All he could see was an angry expanse of bruised grey sky above and the sea mirroring it with gusto below. The boy was about to scream, but a new wave smacked the ship making him bite his lip.

__________________

Back in the cramped quarters Mason slept dreaming of a new world.

_Expanses of verdant forest, fresh lead white crosses, a girl with golden hair unrestrained. He touches her hand, it is soft with long frail fingers. She gazes into him with wanting as she pulls him along a path gently dappled with shadows from the trees above. The chapel fades into the distance as the sun is consumed by forest. Tender kisses are exchanged as he looks down upon two pink circles, marring whiteness with lust. A breathless creaking comes from her as he attends these. Those soft hands tangle in his chestnut locks, cutting gently into his scalp. His hand is grasped again and kissed, and nipped, and bitten, and devoured. Redness covers her chest as she cages him against her. She shakes him with a tinkling laughter coming from between red teeth._

“Mason! Mason!” he heard, unable to comprehend it's source. His mind numb as he felt himself be roughly shaken, from only the sensation of his own weight changing as he must have been lifted and rocked.

The greens and reds of his dream fade as all becomes darkness and itching. “Mabel?” he whispers, his twin’s eyes gleam slightly in the darkness. The interrupted breath of awakening sleepers around them. “You, you were shaking and making strange sounds, Mason your so clammy...I don’t...are you well? It’s been so cold...Mason.” she embraces him sobbing messily. He is stunned by his dream, by his sister’s embrace, by being whole but sorely feeling the absence. Other voices emerge from the darkness asking them to be quite with hazed annoyance. But his sister still clutches him as if nothing else exists, even though they are surrounded they are still alone, he reciprocates this. Not caring for her unwashed stench, for he is no better, salt and iron are all he can smell.

______________

The next sunrise they are given bitter looks as they each take a small bun of moldering bread. It is brittle and almost tasteless compared to that which their mother used to bake, although bread at sea is different to bread on land. A sailor once told him it was because it was supposed to last longer, Mason was not convinced though. Sadly the man had fallen overboard during a terrible storm. He did not like the other sailors they were too crude or too silent, none of them seemed fulfilled by their work. But then again he did not enjoy farming, he enjoyed his home and his family. What came after a long day rather than its contents. He wondered if they had homes, apparently sailors would know many women but rarely marry. The thought made his eyes raw, he bit into the bun thanklessly. His sister didn’t eat, “Mabel?” she looks up at him. She’s grown gaunt on this voyage, they all have. “It’s not like home here Mason” she toys with the bread. He gently rests his hand on her’s, “No, but this is not our home. This is only the means to it. Our new home in the new world with a new family.” she smiles at him, but there is bitterness beneath her eyes. She gently brings the bread up, examining it “I hope so, else we have no home left”.


	2. Reaching Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CARPENTRY>>>It will make sense

The port is raw, cut from earth and trees. Small patches of green eagerly seep from the ground, but they are not beautiful...they are parasitic.

_Nats, hungry and dirty._

Mason, his sister, along with the other passengers, sway down the crude plank connecting the ship to land. He takes his first step onto the ground, he slips. He sounds like weak animal as meets it.

_Pathetic._

Mabel carefully pulls him up, her skeletal arms still strong. He looks into her eyes, they are overflowing with quiet hope “We’re here my big dipper, our new home”, she embraces him, and frankly he is thankful since he’s not sure he’d be able to stand otherwise. _This is too ridiculous_ , he can’t help but give out a dry laugh. “Finally we can have some damn fresh bread!”, his sister looks surprised at his rude outburst. Then laughter spills out, it’s almost grating, but its been too long absent. “Oh Dipper! I’ll let you off but one shouldn’t blaspheme, even for some damn bread!” they both giggle uncontrollably, giddy with hunger and happiness. This much hope aches and gives and takes. He almost feels mad.

“Pines?” a gruff voice murmurs separate from the townsfolk's nattering. Mason nudges Mabel, to confirm his hearing.

“Pines?”, they both scurry over to the voice, an old man stands some distance from them looking anxious. _His clothes are well made, but they're plain and unflattering. They'd clearly been around a long time, just like him._

“Yes! Yes! We are Pines!” Mabel shouts while giggling “But we are not trees!”, Mason rudely snorts at this.

The graying man hobbles over _._ He carefully looks the children up and down, chin resting in his palm “Oh, well that is a terrible shame, I was hoping for a new shipment of English pine.” he sighs dramatically.

Both children titter, "But we be English Pines sir, a few more years and we'll be taller than the American variety!". The old man rolls his eyes “Oh well I suppose you children still have plenty time to grow” he clutches them to his broad chest, the contrast severe to the brittle frames. Then he peers down at them “Hhmm...The pretty one must be Mabel.” his sister smacks the man affectionately, “and the dirty one...must be your brother, Mason.” the boy smiles at this.

Then Mason presses a finger to the man's ruddy nose, “And the old one must be Stanford!”. The man bristles slightly at this, wrinkled hands flex. Mason's brow furrows “I’m sorry that’s what the letter said...it must have been misspelled, but I can read and so can my sister”.

The man looks down at him smiling a little sadly, “No you're right, but I prefer Stan.”

“More like old man Stan!” Mabel blurts.

_Happiness._

“I’ll take you children to your new home, but then I do have to attend a shipment of English oak.” both look up at him wondering. They follow him, leaving light dents in the red clay of the port, then ruddy footprints upon the gritty planking leading towards the town.

Mabel looks up at the old man evaluating him “What is you do old man Stan?” he hums as he looks down at her. “Well, originally I came here as a researcher. But with times being what they are I ran out of coin. So now I work as a carpenter, doing furniture for the church and some of the nicer residences.”

Mason looks up at Stan admiringly “You must be good then, to do that kind of skilled work, our parents...they were just farmers.” he couldn't help but stare at the faded footprints he traced walking to the towns gate. Stan grips his shoulder tightly “My father was a carpenter before me, so it seemed natural to return to it. And it would seem natural to pass it on as well...but I never married, and I was hoping for an apprentice. So I can pass on what he taught me, and what I’ve learned, and one day you could pass on your own findings in the craft".

“I want to learn too!” Mabel barrels in. Stan chuckles wryly, looking up from Mason, “Well it wouldn’t hurt, it never does harm to have a spare”. 

 _This is so sparkling._ Mason hardly dares breath, he feels he must be beautifully drowning and seeing heaven. Neither wanting to break this perfect moment, both remain quiet and close to the old man. Happiness at his kindness, and content in the prospect of a good future in this beautiful new world when so much had been uncertain just minutes before.

 

______________

 

Strange and mangled beasts lined the walls. Twigs and knotted wood forming their features, descending into refined curves and varnish. _They are not nightmarish, almost comforting, like protective gargoyles_ _used by Catholics to scare off spirits._ Two small beds were either side of the cramped room, both polished and intricately patterned. One with winding flowers and stars, another with woodland and leaves of ivy twining about it. The twins gasped at this room, they had never seen anything like this, back home they had slept on straw with their parents huddled beside the hearth.

“This is…” Mabel whispers, Stan looks between them apprehensively rubbing his hands together. Mabel tiptoes towards the one decorated with flowers, brushing her hand against it gently, almost afraid to stir the petals. She kneels beside it, utterly entranced, caressing the wood disbelievingly.

Stan scrutenises the room, “I’m sorry I know the carvings are a little scary, I should of moved them first. Idiot.” he palms his wrinkled temple. Mason stands in the doorway beside him, awestruck.

“This...this is beautiful Stan”, almost in a trance he walks over to one of the figures on the wall, gazing at it “and the beds are lovely to”.

Mabel looks up at the old man earnestly “Beyond lovely, we've never had such nice things”

Dipper turns and sees the triangular window, it is not hollow but has a thick pane of mottled glass to keep the wind out. “Stan, this is too good for us we can’t, we can sleep by the fire. This must have taken too much work Stan”.

Stan smiles, “Yes it is too good...considering you're both so dirty, you should have a warm bath first. And a meal too, you both look like ghouls sent to haunt me.” he chuckles. “I’ll send you over to good old Susan since I’ve still got that oak to pick up” Stan’s smile spreads wider “She’s a fine and good woman, and also owes me for fixing one of her chairs, she’ll bathe and fed you pups till you can barely move. Just...one of her eyes...don’t act rudely, she has a heart of gold”.

 

______________

 

_Such warmth, gently lapping at him._

Mason was melting in the tub, and Mabel was already asleep. Draped over the side like a tired rag. He scrubbed at his skin with a harsh brush, dirt from their voyage evidencing itself in the water. _It was almost painful, like scrubbing floor, except he was the floor and it had been months._ He’d have to comb his hair too, it was over run with lice, he should of warned their new guardian. _Can I even comb it?_  He examines a matted lock, the water hadn’t thawed it, and his sister’s was even worse.

Despite having lost so much, they’d moved up in the world. They would no longer be expected to be simple, dirty farmers, but carpenters and good ones at that. He smiled dozily, slouching almost fully into the tub. His eyes and nose just above the water. All that time struggling to survive, walking miles and miles to London, then the voyage, and now he was here. _I could just drown myself, the water is so gentle and I am so happy._ But then he looked over at his sister. _No._ For he still had plenty yet to enjoy, one day Mabel would be married, and he to. With plump bright-eyed children to feed, and care for, and love. They would never know worry and hardship, like he and his twin. The memory so distant it could barely hurt.

Mason’s eyelids drifted shut, the water shifted almost imperceptibly around his face. If he stopped thinking he could count the gentle laps, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven...twelve, thirteen...fourteen. Green woods began to appear.


	3. Lice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janky haircuts and lice (or nits or whatever) this chapter gives me flash backs...to pain.
> 
> ALSO SOME SAUCYNESS, BUT ITS SUPER VAGUE. IT'S REALLY NOT RACY. I think its kinda funny, but yeah it's literally the first paragraph. 
> 
> ...Also I did a drawing, because I'm secretly a try hard.
> 
> In regards to updates: Probs gonna aim for 1-2 thousand words everyday or so.

_The girl she is above the lower of him, nakedness except a taunting piece of cloth over her temptation. Her skin is dappled with light shining between the leaves. Her red lips spread gently in anticipation. Warmth and wetness encapsulates him. He is choking with pleasure._

 

He is choking, Mason almost leaps out of the tub, shattering the water’s surface. _Damn stupid, I want to live damn it._ He sputters water over the edge, his coughing oddly dry. Mabel stirs, “Mason?”, he looks at her nervously realising that despite being bare of the water his groin is still too warm.

“I’m getting out, and I’m cutting my hair. I don’t think I could comb it, even if I wanted to”, he climbs out of the bath carefully keeping his back to Mabel. And sits on the floor trying to wriggle into the slacks Susan, _the innkeeper and Stan's friend?_ , provided. But there is a wet and a long struggle. Once finished he sits still, calming himself.

Mabel, now awake, scrubs at her self, then attempts to take a comb to her hair. She makes small pained noises behind him, he then hears the water shift as she comes closer and peers over the edge “No one’s gonna be able to tell us apart”. Mason, catching her tone looks up concerned to see a forlorn face.

“Why we’re plenty different? I’ve got my birthmark, and I’m taller than you”.

“By less than an inch Dipper...and there is no way you're not gonna cover it up. I reckon we’d look pretty similar with the same haircut ‘cept you’ll have a stupid hat on”.

Mason knits his eyebrows,“Well by the looks of it our former hair will be crawling behind us”.

Mabel tips out of the tub, thunking on the floor in a wet tangle. Mason jumps slightly at the sudden noise “Get your licy hair away, I don’t want these clothes infested, they’re not mine.”

“Oh shut up, your hair’s licy too. You find anything to cut with big idiot Dipper?”

“No...damn you.” he snaps. Mabel looks either side of him inquisitively, her eyes spark.

“Well unlike you, I wouldn’t need to sell my soul to find shears.” Mabel leaves his sight, then comes back brandishing glistening metal. She raises a felt of hair to its maw and closes her eyes as if in prayer “I can only hope you’ll grow to be even prettier”.

 

SNIP

 

______________

 

They sit at the end of a crowded table, low wooden beams and patrons box them in. Mason stares into his tankard, an unfamiliar face challenging him. Cropped hair, hollow cheeks, dull eyes.

 

Only once had he gotten to see himself in a real glass mirror, a gypsy caravan had settled in the woods only a few miles from their farm. He had snuck out at night, overwhelmed with curiosity.

It was dark and exciting, fields scarred with white earth reflecting the moonlight. He had entered the forest, rotting leaves and the whiff of smoke filling his nostrils as he headed deeper. Until reaching a new constellation, the caravan.

An old woman had given him tea made of dried fruit and mint leaves. He had stayed up all night chatting to her, and as the sun was rising she passed him a shard of shivered glass. _Stiller than a pool of water almost iridescent._  He looked into it seeing his sister, but like him. Not distorted by ripples nor the scarring of beaten metal, but a face unblinking with curiosity. They seemed more real than he was, sharper, finer, made up of strange and fantastical shades. He remembered touching the cold glass that imprisoned them, shuddering as he met himself. They felt dead and frozen.

His parents had noticed his absence. When he returned home he had been smacked with an old wooden, spoon several times.

 

Mason rubbed his face tentatively, remembering the pain. It had been his first unpleasant memory he’d had of their parents since their death. Susan came over to the twins, holding two steaming bowls. He and his sister now knew what Stan had meant. She had been beyond kind, giving them a hot bath and change of clothes, but one of her eyes was always shut. And although it was not blind, it might as well have been, only making an appearance to demonstrate a disturbing wink.

Broth steamed in front of them, carrots and potato bobbing at the top. The liquid was almost clear, unmarred with the sheen of fat. “I’ll bring some fresh slices to have to, but most who just made the voyage can’t manage even half that. Now don’t eat too fast else you’ll be making a mess.” Susan winked. Both children looked into their bowls, Mason carefully lifted his spoon, unused to the weight, and Mabel her bowl. “Ahh! Hot! Gah!”

“Yes I know, that’s why I’m using a spoon.” he said lifting his eyebrow, Mabel glowered at him, a trail of thin soup down her chin. “You’re such a farm girl it’s embarrassing. Ergh!” He had a new streak of broth on his face, and she laughed very loudly at the spectacle.

“No, but I should take it slow” she picks up a spoon, dipping it into the soup, and gently blowing. _Oh you think your so funny._ Mason glares at her, as she pays him no heed “Oh this is very nice, it’s like...Mason” she catches his eye. _I could just dunk her face in it._ “Don’t even... I won’t eat lice, and you’ll go hungry” she frowns comically, a smile breaks on his face.

 

They sit for a long while, slowly spooning in soup and nibbling bread. Susan comes by occasionally to check on them and share short words, before she waddles off again to attend a guest.

 

______________

  
Finally Stan appears escorting them through the town, but his tour is cut short by their soft yawns. They all head back home, up dusty stairs, then into their beds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written prose for myself since I was 13, I hope it doesn't show to much. But hey I've been having a lot of fun...especially writing Mabel!


	4. Puberty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be very honest here...I'm not American. My whole context for this is Adam's Family Values, A Study in Scarlet, the music video for Begin again, Pocahontas 1+2, and VVitch. 
> 
> This is actually more general Settlers AU, which is protestant. Also I've actually written out the plot now, it should be about 12-15 chapters total...I might do an epilogue as well.
> 
> Also I added in a couple of dawning to chapter 1+2 if your interested.

_Haze is visible in the distance, the next farm’s wheat whispers sweet nothings. The scent of onion permeates the air. He tugs at long green stalks, but they are like unending twine. He keeps pulling and pulling, then gently falls back with the effort landing in a soft cradle. It gently rocks in the breeze. Then swings in a gale._

 

“Mason wake up!”, his sister is above him. Crude eyes are drawn on her chin with ash, they are smiling but she is not “I thought I’d give you the traditional waking of the English, but you were asleep!”.

He rubs his eyes groggily, a scowl forming though to sleepy to parade.

Mabel looks down at him, annoyance clear. She is fully dressed and wags her finger at him reprimandingly. “Mason the point of waking up is so you don’t waste daylight, yet it’s midday already!”.

Mason pulls up the blanket protectively “This is the best sleep I’ve had for years, now push off”.

She crosses her arms looking down at him, “Well I’m going out to help old man Stan, apparently I’ll be distracting a child, his words. And apparently I’ll be indispensable, again his words”. Mason curls more tightly into his cocoon.

"I'm coming out in spring", she tugs harshly at his covers. All pretense of teacherly authority giving way to impatience. _Damned early risers._ He had slept badly at best, plagued by strange dreams all voyage long. Although he had often woken her as well.

A pitiful whining comes form the bed as Mabel relentlessly tugs him free, “It’s just gonna be some awful brat Mabel” he squeals. She stops, starting to become upset.

“You’re a brat idiot Dipper!", she sits down on the bed beside his concealed form.

He can feel her weight beside him, after a minute she shifts slightly and gets off the bed. But he doesn't hear steps or the creaking of floorboards. Suddenly he is jabbed, poking his head out he sees his twin grinning. Then she fully laughs, slapping her knee. He feels himself flush with embarrassment. "Oh brother your face, you look like an angry pidgeon!" she continues laughing, and sinks to the floor rolling with giggles. Mason scowls at he indignanly, she's almost crying. Eventually she sits up, "Anyway aren’t you hungry?”, he retreats into his blankets again. Only moments later to be betrayed by a load rumble.

 

______________

 

It’s crisp out, the sky glows white with clouds. Not a speck of blue painted upon it. _I can’t believe it’s already autumn._ He and his sister stand out sorely, dressed in overly large winter coats and mismatched felt caps.

They waddle along a narrow dirt road, either side of Stan, heading towards the center of the fort. Mason glances behind, the wall looms like an especially dense and dead forest, he hadn’t noticed just how tall it was yesterday. _I wonder what they’re trying to keep out._ He catches the eye of a watchman lounging on its platform, Mason glances away at the sudden contact. _Well_   _I guess it can’t be that bad._

They enter the square, fragrant smells come from Susan’s inn. There is a tailor’s shop opposite, it’s shabby and there are words crudely painted on it “Englash Wol”. Mason snorts, his sister looks over at him and hums “What’s caught your eye big Dipper?”.

“Oh just some good old Englash”, he points to the sign and his sister chuckles a little. Stan, who’s eyes previously followed the ground, looks up at the twins. “You shouldn’t be rude kids, not many people can read and write. Heck, I struggle enough”, he is not harsh but the two become silent again. Stan just looks up at the sky, his brow wrinkling “I hate overcast days, now I’m old the sky looks like it’s damned crawling”.

As they exit the square they turn down another narrow street. Unlike the others there are only two long buildings either side before splitting into further alleys. He notices long ominous holes in the second floor. They are uniform, _strange tiny windows_.

Mason looks back to the old man, he seems uncomfortable, “Stan is it true this is called Fort Falls?”.

He prickles slightly at this avoiding the boy’s gaze, “It said so in my letter didn’t it, I can write you know”.

“I know...but isn’t that a rather ominous name?”

Stan softens at his tone, looking down and seeing genuine curiosity in his eyes, “There’s a large waterfall, not even a mile off. Fresh water can be hard to come by, even in England. All the water here comes from it. And well it is a fort...ah finally the entrance!”. Stan stops outside of a set of wide wooden doors. “We’re at the barracks kids, I need you to be on best behavior. I also need you to distract the governor's daughter...she’s hmm...she’s a governor's daughter is all”, his eyes narrow slightly and he makes a bitter expression. The twins exchange wondering glances before he loudly raps on the door.

A short moment later a young, spotty, man with dark hair opens it, his face much like Mason’s own when he didn’t wished to be roused. He looks Stan up and down, and then the twins. His dislike was palpable, “What is it old man, another shadow scarred you?”, he snickers slightly. Mason doesn’t like him.

Stan looks at the boy with bored annoyance, “Robbie if your mother knew the things I knew you’d be in the woods with just a burnt out wick and a pack of hungry wolves.”

His eyes narrow “Did you just come to pick a fight”, he tugs at his sleeves showing scrappy, pasty, skin. Stan rolls his eyes, he his twice as big, and although a little fat his arms bulge with muscle.

“No Robbie, I'm here to see the governor, he’s expecting me”.

Robbie glowers at him “You stay outside”, he slams the door and they hear slow footsteps.

Mabel looks up at Stan, “What’s wrong with him?”

Stan shudders “Puberty, you kids best not go through it”, he palms his forehead “It’s terrible, nothing makes sense and you feel miserable all the time”.

“We’re fourteen Stan, we’re going through it” Mason says flatly.

He looks at them eyes wide “Oh god...I thought you were younger”.

Mabel bumps the old man, fluttering her hand “Can’t you see I’m blossoming into a woman”. Stan raises an eyebrow, Mason snorts.

“I didn’t know skeletons had feminine charms. Ouch! What did you do that for?” he rubs his arm, looking accusingly at his sister. Mabel grins widely eyes twinkling, “Skeletons don’t feel pain either...or tickles”.

“Hah hah hah...sto...Hahahhahah...no Mabel...hehe...I hate you! Ha Hah...STOP”

 

Stan looks at the two rolling in the dirt, utter bafflement on his face.

 

The door clicks, Robbie peers out cautiously, then looks at Stan, face stretched in confusion “I thought someone was dying...not that I care”.

 Stan stares at him hollow eyed, then at the twins, then back “I wish they had puberty”.

 

______________

 

Light darts in between crude shutters. It is saturated with curling smoke, Mason and his twin cough a little at the abrasive air.

 Maps swathe the walls, random oil paintings interspersing them. The rough cotton lines on surveys looking as if they pointed out the locations of still lifes. _Surely there are more interesting things to look at than glasses and fruit if you’ve got the gold._

A tall man sits behind an overly large desk, his hair is graying although he is obviously not as old as Stan. He is immaculately clean and dressed in sharply tailored plain clothes. He looks up at their carer, momentary annoyance from being interrupted, then a gentlemanly smile emerges. _I don’t like him...not at all._

“Why Stanford, what a pleasure! And these must be those relatives of yours, fresh off the boat I see.” He chuckles deeply looking at the twins “And who might you two be?”. 

“I am Mabel Pines sir”, Mason is disgusted to see his sister blush slightly. _Girls._ He hopes the man doesn’t see his scowl.

 “And you young man?”

 “Oh I’m Mason Pines, what’s yours?”, he feels Stan nudge him slightly. “Sir”, the man smiles at this and proceeds to take another puff of his pipe.

 “Oh he’s just as cheeky as you Stanford, and as for you Mason I’m known as Governor Northwest”, he beckons to the boy. “Come here and try a wonder of the new world, it’ll be sure to put hairs on your chest”. Mason walks over and is handed the pipe, “Now be sure to take a deep breath and try to keep it in your chest”, the boy dumbly follows instruction. He coughs and splutters up smoke, it burns his chest and his nose feels raw. The man laughs at him and an smacks Mason’s shoulder a little too hard, making him flinch. _Don’t touch me._ “Th...thank you...sir”, he retreats to his sister’s side coughing.

 The governor smiles at him, failing to conceal his amusement. “Now why don’t you children go to the next room, I have a lovely daughter she doesn’t get to see anyone her own age. A child of the new world you see, I’m sure she’d be eager to hear about the old”.

 

______________

 

Mason and Mabel exit the smoke filled room, they look at each other. He stares into his twin’s eyes, slight tears forming “I hate him”.

Her fists shake slightly “That wasn’t...I do to Dipper”.

“I can’t imagine what that child of the new world’s gonna be like”, Dipper shakes his head, brows furrowed.

“Oh God Dipper”, he glances up at his sister. Her eye’s grow wide, she stares behind him.

  
“Pacifica, Pacifica Northwest. A child of the new world as you so rightly said”


	5. Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean like Church, and the plot progress. Hope your enjoying!
> 
> I'm editing this myself, and I try to spot all the mistakes. But I kinda struggle cause I'm dyslexic and I want this to be the best it can be. Also I'm switching this over to a T, since there are way worse T's on here. It's not pornographic I'm just trying to make it sincere about growing up and that's not a crime (I think).

The twins sit in uncomfortable silence. The sharp edge of the wooden bench pressing hard into the back of their legs. Pacifica lounges across the opposite seat, head propped on a folded blanket, scowling at a bible. Neither dare to speak, Mabel stares dully at the flickering lamp, and Mason at his own feet. 

After a long and unknown while, for there are no windows in the room, she sighs and puts down her book. She turns her head slightly, looking at the twins with apathy “Your breathing too loud, I can barely concentrate”. Focus broken she closes her eyes annoyed “What are your names?”.

“I’m Mabel and this is my twin Mason, you won’t tell your father will you? What we said.”, Pacifica looks at the girl with disinterest.

“No, no I won’t. You might as well do something rather than staring at me like lumps. There are cloth rags in that bag, and if either of you can read you can have this book. I need to do my needlepoint now.” she stands and opens an ottoman at the back of the room. Mabel and Mason look at each other slightly surprised. The girl turns round seeing this “Chop chop”, the two scramble for the objects she looks a little surprised.

Mabel holds the bag of rags and Mason the bible. Pacifica resettles with her needlepoint, Mabel looks at her blankly. She signs “Those rags are to be torn and made into a carpet Mabel, and that bible is for reading Mason”, she then carefully begins to unwind yellow yarn. Mason tentatively opens the worn book, “Be careful not to lose my place” she snaps, but there is no real bite behind it, she is too focused. Mabel looks to him, then unties the sack. She gasps a little. Pacifica looks up, “Is there a problem?”.

The twin gazes into the bag “No, it’s just that”.

Pacifica raises an eyebrow “It’s just what?”.

“These are too nice to make into rag rugs.”, Mabel looks up at the girl confusion clear.

She looks a little taken aback at the response,“What would you do with them otherwise?”

Mabel looks back into the bag, stretching the rim a little, “Well I can stitch them into new clothing, me and my brother are borrowing Stan’s old clothes right now. And I’m not sure I’d trust the tailor here”. She pulls out the worn clothes, an red wool dress comes out as well. “I could make you a cloak of this.” Pacifica’s eyes widen a little seeing the garment. She gets up promptly dropping her needlework on the floor with little regard. “Why’s that there, get off it!”. She pulls it from Mabel’s hands cradling it to her chest. Mabel looks a little scared at this emotion showing all a sudden. Pacifica turns away from them, still clinging to the dress and picks up her needlepoint. “You can have those rags, I hate cloth rugs anyway.”

The three sit in silence, Mabel sorts as quietly as possible through the old clothes. Mason reads the bible, it was more through than the one their old priest had owned, as well as being a generally better translation.

A gentle tapping comes from the door and it opens, Stan stands in the hallway looking a little haggard, “Come on kids it’s time to go”. Mason carefully closes the bible and puts it on the bench, Mabel returns the clothes to bag. The both get up as silently as possible. As they walk over to Stan the girl doesn’t look up from her needlework. “You can take the rags”, Mabel looks over to her with slight surprise. Pacifica looks up a little annoyed “I said you can take it”.

Mabel flushes “Thank you”, she walks back to the bench and picks up the sack tentatively. Pacifica stares at her intensely as she walks back to her guardian and her brother, to confused to act with her usual rash cheerfulness. A smile cracks on Pacifica's face, laughing at her shyness “You can go now, no need to gawk”.

Mabel looks at the bag and back up to her, “Really thank you, and if you want I’d be happy to make you something...not a cloak but maybe a nice set of stockings”. Pacifica cackles, then covers her mouth. “I have plenty of stockings, but I’ll definitely think about it.” she smiles warmly at Mabel.

“Thank you for taking care of them Miss Northwest, but I’d better take these children back home.” Mabel waves tentatively at the girl, then follows her brother and the old man as the door creaks shut.

 

______________

 

It’s almost twilight when they sit in the dusty room. A failing oil lamp burns, as rough rhythmic scraping comes from the background. Stan files small pieces of wood, evening the rough lacquer. Twins sitting on the dusty floor sleepily eating small pink radishes and chunks of stale bread. After some time he seems to come out of the trance, and walks over to the fading pair. “I have something for you two”, he extends his hands closed. They perk up a little, and look at him surprised. His eyes glisten slightly in the warm light “Each of you pick a hand”. Mabel looks at each excitedly, then up at Stan, he smiles. She touches his left. “You sure kid?”, she furrows her brow and looks at the other, but keeps her hand where it is. He slowly unfurls his exposing a carved shooting star, about an eighth of a foot long. It’s a little crude, simple in design, but Mabel’s eyes twinkle all the same. The old man looks over to Dipper revealing the contents of his other hand, a pinetree of equal length.

It’s odd kindness, one can become easily accustomed to it if they know nothing else. But to those who’ve lost and suffered it is taken to cautiously but desperately, like a dying man to water. He knows it is not always clean, he might grow sick if it has been still too long. But none the less he needs it.

 Both twins take the small tokens wondering. Stan smiles widely at the two, “Do you like them?”. They nod silently but sincerely. The old man stands and goes over to a high shelf retrieving two small pots. Mabel and Mason examine the small carvings, both noting a small hole cut into the sides. “Since you two only have my old clothes to wear, and we’re going to church tomorrow...I thought it’d be nice for you to have something...nice”, he brings the pots over and fishes a small ball of thread from his pocket, placing these in front of the twins. He carefully lifts the lids of the pots, then the damp cloth from over their mouths, revealing mixed blue and ochre pigment. Producing from his pockets again, two small and delicate brushes appear, the two taking one each. “The lacquers dried so you can paint on them”.

 The three sit on silence for a long while, the two paint cautiously with the soft brushes. Once they are finished Stan delicately threads each, careful of the drying paint. He then places them on his workbench. “They should be dry in the morning, I’m sorry for keeping you two up, since we’ll have to wake early for mass”.

Mabel gazes at him “It’s no problem Stan”.

 

______________

 

Both are wakened rudely by a loud knocking “Get yourselves descent, we’ll be heading to mass soon”, it's still dark outside the triangular window. Both fumble into baggy clothes, to tired to make conversation, then drift out of the room. Where Stan stands equally bedraggled, but holding the two small necklaces which he briskly knots behind their necks. He gently mutters “Hear no evil, see no evil, touch no evil”, both are too tried to comprehend his words.

 

______________

 

They walk along the dirt streets as red lightness begins to stain the sky, a white cross shining against it. Familiar faces from the ship as well as the new ones of the townsfolk surround the two as they are herded inside the church. Mason looks around, the cold had mercilessly awaken him, he could feel small claws of pain sinking into his skull despite the hat he wore. The priest, fat and rosy faced, dressed in the traditional black garb. Besides him was a runty boy with white hair. And on the other side a girl. Unlike the other two her features were long and delicate, and what showed of her hair was almost golden. _The girl._


	6. The Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi, I haven't updated for a while since I had to do a two day test for a job then went to massive family party. I'm also actually insane (oh genetics).

_I can’t concentr_ _ate, not on the words spilling from this priest._ He bellowed with fire and conviction, collective breath in tandem between his proclamations. The focus of the crowd stilling the air in between. All eyes staring at the man, straining not to miss a movement, silent not to miss a word.

Mason feels his eyes grow raw, he isn’t looking a the noisy man, his gaze is to the left.  At the girl, afraid if he closes them she will vanish. Friction rubs his neck as he tugs at his pendant, stopping himself from running to her. But should he? She always devours him in his dreams, _I want to touch her._ He flushes at this thought and looks down abashed. He sees the old man’s hands beside him straining on the fabric of his trousers, knuckles standing white. _I guess I’m not the only one that wants him to finish._

 

Warm afternoon light creeps through small windows. The sky is blue and unmarred outside. The man seems to calm finally. The boy and the young woman stand, both holding small pewter pans. They walk along the aisles, passing the plates along to be filled. He realises he has not drawn breath. Mason is frozen in anticipation, waiting for her...

The girl walks up to him, she smiles warmly, “Pass this along will you”. _Hair loose and tumbling over her ivory chest._ She giggles at him, seeing his dumb expression, thinking it confusion. “You really are fresh off the boat, you look like a fish”, he closes his gawking mouth blushing. She passes the jangling plate to him “Here”.

It’s strange seeing such an honest smile on her face. She titters gently, “Pass it on then” waving her hand slightly. He gives it to Stan, not breaking eye contact. She smiles at him again, this time with mild amusement, “You should come to bible study, it’ll just be me, my cousin and a couple other children”.

Barely waiting a breath “Yes, yes I will”, Mason feels himself flush fully. _Can she? Can she?_

“Bring your sister too, it’s not like it's optional.” she chuckles.

He hears a light tinkling, the girl looks up “Thank you for your contribution Stan”.

“It’s not like it’s optional” Stan mutters bitterly. The girl continues along the line unheading.

 

______________

 

It was nice outside on the grass, a little brisk but nice. It also meant that squealing voice was somewhat dispersed, thankfully not ricocheting off the walls of the church, birdsong and wind whittling it a little.  The boy reading was named Gideon, a runty little thing, he was also fourteen summers. He was exceedingly pale, Mason was surprised he did not set a blaze in the sunlight, he wished the boy would. Leering at his sister with his piggy little eyes, _disgusting_.

 

“Mason?” the girl looks down at him a wry smile on her face, “You get up now”. He heard the other children titter. Mason jumps to attention facing the others, “Why humble man you have cured me of my leprosy!” he exclaims, “A miracle!” he turns to her. The girl looks at him, face now clear of mirth “I carry out the will of God, my father does not wish for you to suffer”, she touches his face gently. But her warmth is fleeting, she flinches slightly. “My brother know that in heaven we are all equal, do not let this life dissuade your belief in our father above”, her eyes stare into him all intensity. Large and brown, sun catching them gold like her hair. He feels his cheeks warm.  

Mason keeps her gaze, although he wishes he could look away “Thank you Jesus”. Her eyes glisten with mischief.

 

All the children take turns acting out miracles. Mabel does her’s with a large gruff girl, it’s all Mason can do to stop himself rolling on the ground. Not everyone else was succeeding.

 

“This table” Mabel points to thin air raising her eyebrows, “Is going down! BAAMMM!” she flips it.

The plump girl clutches her face in mock stoic horror “Oh, no, my precious wares”.

Mabel crosses her arms “This is a temple not a vend-all”.

 

______________

 

The sun is descending into distant forest as the twins head back home.

 Mason looks at his sister desperately, his eyes red, “Mabel...I...I just can’t”.

Mabel grins maniacally, “This is a temple not a vend-all!”, Mason bursts out laughing. Mabel puffs out a sigh, enjoying her siblings amusement, but also looking at the surrounding town with boredom. She looks back to her twin yawning “It was a lot of fun though, but it wouldn’t have been the same without Grenda...although you are still my ultimate straight man. My own twin, a true sourpuss.”

Mason scrunches his face at her “I’m not a…oh”, his sister grins toothily at him.

 “Hmmm...Nope”, but her expression became a little more serious as they neared the house. “It’s a shame Pacifica wasn’t there though, it’s odd. I hope she’s alright. ”

 

______________

 

Only darkness contextualises the loud banging. _The ship, something must have come loose._ Pattering is heard and the ignition of sulfur. A slim low light appears. Tap tap tap, slowly passing away from them.

 

Cloth moves on the other side of the room. It’s too cool and dry, not the human stew he had been used to. _I’m not on the ship._ A far off fumbling with latches, and a metal groan. A shadowy figure creeps past him to the door, blocking out the glowing slit beneath.

  
Faded voices, too dull and distant, “Our daughter”, words gently breaking.


	7. Bill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a lie in the footnote. It keeps reusing my first one, I'm gonna update when I can. But I find it hard to write so it takes me a while...................
> 
> Also BILL

Mason stands in the doorway of an unfamiliar room, tallow candles small blossoms of heat in the chill night. Monotonous rattling comes from behind as the old man fumbles through his tool box. 

In the center of the room a figure lies. They are not like his parents.

Mason glances back at the man, but he is preoccupied pulling out various instruments. 

Tentively he touched the girl’s face feeling his hand tense in repulsion, then resting it on her cheek.  _ Cold and oddly greasy, _ black soot staining her from the proximity to the flames. She didn’t look gone, he thought he saw her chest rise from the corner of his eye. But of course it didn’t.

Both he and his twin had encountered death before. But unlike the past when they had found them there had been only charred flesh. It was odd to see the girl unmarked, unseeing, unblemished by life.  _ At any moment she could get up and waking from such vulnerable sleep _ . 

 

Tilting his head slightly to look back at Stan he saw the man was still preoccupied.  _ I could do anything to her. _ His hand tightened on her face, no resistance came, he tried more pressure. A prickle of shame and alien satisfaction came across him. All his twisting thoughts, all the hurting with in him poured out like poison, power taking its place. He felt the soft with fat meld around his fingers but the muscle beneath was hard and strained. 

He had spoken briefly to her only today, now seemed so informal and unreal, but immensely intimate. 

 

_ No. NO. No no...this isn’t well. _ He retraced his hand in horror, bringing it to his own face to etch upon it.

 

Stan had insisted Mabel stay. He thought he would be alright but he wasn’t. He wasn’t disgusted, he wasn’t sad, but he felt something crumble in him. 

 

Eyes became hot, white pain, everything in the room crawled. Walls, floors ceiling all mixing in flickering light.  The fire was hungry, all brightness and desperate touches. 

 

______________

 

He sits watching Stan mechanically measuring and marking long wooden planks. It would be an ugly coffin, that family were farmers.  _ I doubt they can even pay for it _ . Although he hadn’t been around to hear those details since he’d fainted. Mabel also was in the workshop, she sat glumly sorting through the clothes Pacifica had given her, picking out the torn stitching to salvage the material.  Her eyes were red as she squinted at the garments, rubbing them in attempt to gain clarity. The old man relented at his work, brushing his hands against the rough apron he wore. Still for a long moment, then slowly he turns around, lowering his eyes to the twins. Discomfort working his mouth and regret his brow, “Mabel...Mason, you two...are you hungry?”.

 

A little bread and cheese was brought through, he tears off chunks of it with his dusty hands, then slicing the cheese with a sharp knife he keeps in the apron’s pouch. These are placed in the blank laps of the twins. It was more like the giving of a offering then feeding one’s family,  _ but he’s not really family _ .

 

Stan unsteadily went back to the bench and  looked down at his own breakfast, picking at it.  “I’m sorry, about Grenda...and I’m sorry Mason I shouldn’t have brought you with me”. Mason grinds his teeth with annoyance, holding back his tongue.  _ Stupid old man, fat, ugly, stupid. _

The pair sit in silence. Mason feels crumbs gently fall on his hand and then the warmth of fingers, they tighten reassuringly. His sister looks up at the old fool, “Stan it’s not your fault she died, and it’s not the first time someone we know has passed”.

He looks up at them, “I was simple though. I never really thought about how you’d feel, you came here to find a better place and...and this happened. I just wanted Mason...to see what I do, a coffin”.  _ Senile fool, why did you take me? Stupid idiot. _ Mabel let out a slight whimper at his tightening grip. She gently rubbed her thumb across the top of his hand calming him a little. 

His sister speaks, “Nowhere is perfect, but we came here to find a home. You gave that to us and have treated us very kindly. Stan you haven’t known us long...and mistakes are part of getting to know someone, no one is perfect”. _He is a sick, stupid, old man._ Squeaking filling his head as Mason grates his teeth. _It’s too much_ , he can feel tears forming. Releasing his sister’s hand as he stands, forcing the bench back a little so the sound can annoy the old man. He walks heavily over to the door that leads outside, fumbling with the latch to make more noise.

He glances behind, seeing the two look at him. “I need some air”, then he slams the door behind him.

 

______________

  
  


The wall is really close. Mason looks up at the towering structure between instances of looking down at his feet. His eyes are watering a little, he couldn’t tell if it was his burning anger, the feeling of too much, or just the wind.  _ Twisting, writhing, spitting. Stupid. Fool. Idiot. _  He dug rough nails into his hand, bringing some distraction.  _ Why did I do that? _

As he walks blindly trying to comprehend his actions he bumps into something. “Oi boat boy”, a familiar voice. He looks up at an angry pimpled face, nothing to distract him from the writhing Robbie bitterness. “Shut up”  _ stupid, ugly, annoying _ .

He raises his eyebrow at Mason,“Look where you’re going then, you almost trod on my foot”.

“I couldn’t look since you were in the way”, he shoves Robbie a little. 

Annoyance clear he bumps his musket a little to show it off, “This gate leads to the forest stupid. The port is on the other side. Now go away”.

“I want to go to the falls though”, his voice cracks a little.  _ Embarrassing. _

Robbie looks him up and down scowling “You don’t know how to get there, and even if you did I can’t let you out”.  _ Disgusting newworlder trash. _ Mason tightens his fist. The thought of hurting him is terribly appealing. His ugly pimples hidden by blood, his own hands covered in the mixture of it and the boy’s pathetic drool as he begs.

“Is that you Mason?” a  _ tinkling from above _

A girl’s head peers out over the edge of the high platform that runs about the inner side of the wall. She smiles at him broadly, golden locks tumbling across her face. All those thoughts go back into their box, he feels an odd calmness spread over him. She laughs a little and beckons to him, “Climb up Mason, come on there’s a wonderful view”.

Robbie looks up at the girl “You want this twerp?”, Mason is shocked to see a somewhat besotted look soften the boy’s previous annoyance.

 

“You want him to leave you alone Robbie?”

 

Robbie nods at the boy, and waves to ladder, then takes a few steps back to resume his previous position.

Mason feels his ears heat, and not from the effort of climbing. Taking small moment to look up at her face rather than the rungs in front of him. As he reaches it’s end she pulls him up, tugging his collar. 

“I thought those clothes looked loose but you really are just skin and bones. You can’t of had anything but water when you were at sea”, she pulls back his sleeve a little to examine his wrist. He can feel her warmth a little, it is a very cold morning. He looks down somewhat abashed “No, we didn’t really get much to eat." looking back up at her "How did you find crossing over?”.

She hums a little inspecting his wrist, “Oh I didn’t, I’ve been in this land a long time now”. She taps her nose mischievously, releasing his sleeve “Longer than most, I’m very old”, a slight cackle comes out of her mouth. “Mason did you know you haven’t asked my name yet”.

 

He looks at her sparkling eyes, “How old are you then?”

 

“Hmm...I’m not really sure” she elbows him for his cheek.

 

It’s very hot despite the weather, “What’s your name?”.

 

A radiant smile,“Billy, or Bill for short”. She stares at him, gauging his reaction, then looks into the forest across the wall. Concentration in her profile. He focuses on his hands, twiddling his thumbs a little, a long moment passes. “I suppose my sister sometimes calls me Dipper sometimes...for short”, she looks back to him smiling. But there is an odd wildness about her, the savagely hewn trunks of the wall framing the girl.

The she raises her brows a little in thought,“Dipper?” he tugs up his cap a little. Revealing the birth mark. Her eyes widen. He can feel his face fully flush.  _ It’s stupid she won’t like you.  _ She reaches her hand out a little, but he pulls back reflexively. Her breath catches slightly in subtle reprimand, “It’s the big dipper, you...you have the stars on your forehead”.

He feels his cheeks truly catch ablaze,“Y...yes I do I suppose”.  _ Stupid,stupid, stupid. _

She traces it’s outline in the air, then looks to him, her eyes still intense and sincere “You do, and they’re lovely”.

_ It’s ugly, horrid, disfiguring, ugly, nasty _ . He looks down at his hands breaking their gaze, “No it’s not, I...everyone said...”, he stares at his fingers digging into his hand, the edge of Bill’s dress nudges closer. 

“It’s not pretty mason, it’s not normal. It’s rare and unusual, and definitely lovely”. She comes a little closer reaching out her hands to remove his cap, he feels the brisk air nipping his cropped hair. _I want to feel her hands, are they soft or rough, they were always soft before if that even was her._ “Bill”, his eyes are stinging.  The girl stares at him, a tear is rolling down his cheek, he can feel is warmth abruptly fading. She cocks her head slightly, “Mason, I am sorry...you must of heard about Grenda”. She releases the hat, resting gently back on his head, “You must be cold, your hair’s so short.”

Meeting her eyes again, wondering, “How do you know?”

“Her parents came to the church, we’ll be burying her in a few days." her eyes widen, and she stirs all a sudden, "Dipper, I need to go now...but I’ll see you...at the funeral” she gets up, her dress catching the wind slightly, a hand clung to her bonnet.

_ No not yet. _ He grabs the hem, desperate for her “Bill have you been outside the gates? In the forest I mean?”

Furrowing at this slight, she reaches to pull the fabric from him then pauses, “Well yes, I originally walked here from another settlement.” she remains still mid motion, “ I had to travel by myself back then, an illness had spread through my town...it wouldn’t of been wise to stay”.

The boy tenses, dress slipping due to his alarm, “A illness?”

She pulls her dress back with her spare hand, collecting the fabric, “They thought I was in league with the devil”.

 

“Are you?”

 

She smiles wickedly, but her eyes are broken, “I’ve only ever really been in league with myself”.

 

“Oh”.   _ Dumb, idiot, why. _

 

The sun is almost full, but the sky is crimson behind her. Her face obscured by its brightness. “Just been left to fend for myself Dipper, never had a family...I worked on a farm, then a tannery, then on the pelt trail for a bit.” She turns to look at the town below “ It’s difficult living with people, especially when they only see you as a thing to be used”. He pulls his hat down further, the wind is bitterly cold. 

 

“But you can’t not”, his tone cracks a little. 

 

“If you look down at the town, it looks just like an ant hill doesn’t it Dipper. They’re all busy milling around in their little cage, doing little things. Ants all running over each other for my uncle”.

He pulls the large jacket a little tighter, “The reverend Gleeful? Yes... your Gideon's cousin.”  

She looks back to him, body still angled away, “Sometimes I think about going back into the forest...don’t get me wrong it’s hard...very hard. But some people want...want things...and then I have to go.”

“Bill.” Ignoring the numbness in his legs he stands, limping towards her. Her hand is just a few inches away, but she flinches at his contact, as if he had stung her “Bill..sorry...I didn’t”. 

She looks at him, face stained in red light “It’s not you Mason...I have to go. Just remember the forest isn’t safe.”


	8. Waddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waddles has an edgy back story.
> 
> BTW not as tight as my normal chapters, since this was originally a super long chapter (because I wasn't able to do everything needed in the last few so I crammed a load of stuff in). So there's the other half of this...which is still pretty long, but not finished. IDK long chapters are hard...;)
> 
> But editing something so long is really oppressive, so I split it to keep my sanity. Because unlike dipper I'm not going insane. Also I watched all of Rupaul's drag race season seven, it was a very emotional journey. Also my cash money computer broke...it's fixed now...I think...

Moonlight dappled his sister's form, her shallow breaths filling the silence. Mason lay restlessly in his bed staring up at ghoulish faces, they stared back down at him. He couldn't shut his eyes for his mind was burning with thoughts. The old man’s misshapen carvings did not help to settle him. _ Bill _ . After their conversation had ended he wandered around the town for some while, since Robbie had shooed him off after she left, and he hadn’t wanted to go back to Stan’s house. 

There were lots of shabby wood buildings, some planks even had bark still left on them, it all seemed rather slapdash. The small cottage he had used to live in was made of stone, a roof of thick rushes thatched together. It had weathered wind and rain, terrible storms and droughts for the generations his family had rented it. 

Fort Falls felt like kindling ready to be swept away by the slightest breeze. No wonder Bill had travelled so much, nothing here was built to last. The people sent here were disposable, blood to slick further progress.  _ Ants. _ He didn’t like these thoughts, for one does not wish for their sanctuary to have an expiry date.

But he had Mabel, and even Stan. They both cared for him, Mabel would walk through hot coals for him and he the same.  _ I wonder what it’d be like if I was alone now, or if I’d always been alone. _ Wanted children die so easily, from sickness or deformity, most families had plenty so a few would survive. Apparently their mother had borne three children before them, he had only met small wooden markers though. 

 

_ An unwanted child just died. _

 

______________

 

He looked at his sister in the corner of the workshop. She had carefully spread out the pattern of an old jacket on a clean patch of floor. Delicately quilting the material, filling the stitched squares with finely shredded offcuts. Making short precise actions, they are almost hypnotic. His eyes drift shut.

 

Jerking suddenly he almost falls off the stall, catching himself Mason rubs at his face willing the sleep away. A twitch nags at his right eye, he wonders if the others could see it. He rubs it till the friction causes white stripes against his vision.

 

_ That poor fox _ , it had been in lying on a forest path. He had wondered if there was still good meat on it. Turning it over all he found were small, writhing, maggots and leaf mould. 

 

_ Is it growing in my eye? _ He rubbed at it again savagely. 

 

“Mason”, the boy jerks to attention, Stan carefully lays out chalked planks in front of the boy, lines following measurements. He shows him how to fasten the old boards securely in a clunky wooden vice.  _ No expense spared then.  _ The planks were old and worn, but he supposed Stan wasn’t getting paid much for the coffin, anything would do.

He cut into the wood with an old saw, the man hadn’t trusted him with any of his usual tool. Conflicted pain upon his face when considering lending them to Mason, he ended up turning the workshop upside down looking for his own apprentice equipment. 

The work was dull and monotonous. He had been stuck with sawing through old planks of wood. Stan said to try and keep the cuts as steady as possible, Mason tried but his arms ached terribly and he was finding the white lines were doubling and shifting. _ No wonder the old man’s so strong. _ But at least this work kept him preoccupied, the sound of sawing was calming, and the coffin they were making he assumed was cheap, so he probably wouldn’t be reprimanded too much for any small mistakes.

 

A  faint knocking came from the house’s front door. Stan stood up from his bench exiting the workshop. Mason wasn’t easy distracted normally. But he could help but turn a little to peer into the house. It was early morning, he had no doubt most of the town was up, but it was still not bright enough to conduct business. The old man opened the front door, two figures stood outside. He couldn’t make them out for Stan’s bulk was in the way. 

 

A gruff lilted voice emerged, “Mister Pines, we know you be doing doing us a great favour.” Stan shifted a little revealing two plump figures. The woman carried a small bundle in her arms. He couldn’t quite make out her face, but both seemed familiar. His body shock slightly, his mind racing to catch up.

The woman spoke, “We...we want to thank you, we don’t have much but” she extends the bundle,“We want to be giving you something for all your trouble”.  _ Oh no. _

 

A little squeal, the woman offers the bundle to Stan. Mason makes a low guttural sound, _I don’t want to see them._ Mabel percs up at the woman’s voice curiosity getting the better of her and  she puts down her work to peer around the doorframe into the main house. The old man pushes it away, “Oh please I can’t, this is not a problem I assure you. My apprentice needs training and I’d rather he make something useful than having him just make a mess of good wood”. 

His hand slips up the saw handle, the friction from his grip useless against the sweat coating it. He stares at the ghostly white marks upon the wood, they seem to blur and twist in its knots looking out at him. He could hear his sister's footsteps, they seemed quiet, his head felt as if it were beneath water. He found it harder to take in air as his throat contracted involuntarily.

 

“Please we want you to have this”

 

“I can’t, I’m doing just fine as is.”

 

_ I don’t want them to see me. _ He hunches into himself. Only his back should be visible to them, heaving as he takes irregular breaths. 

 

“You’ve got a girl now, do her good to have something to take of. Pig’s ’ll eat ‘most anything, and our daughter wouldn’t have been wanting Waddles be made into bacon”. 

 

His sister’s voice “Can we Stan?” it cracks. He can’t see her expression but knows it must be heartbreaking. He cannot make out the next few sentences, since his ears ring painfully.

 

“Dipper look”, he turns to see Mabel carefully place the piglet on the ground. He gets unsteadiky off the stall, offering his sister a suffering smile, the bends down to greet her new pet. It examines his fingers with it’s snout, he strokes it and it’s warm to the touch. 

He looks up to her after a minute, “They were Grenda’s parents?”, she nods at him subtly in reply, then reaches over to the pile of cloth. Mabel pulls Waddles on her lap while she works. Stan returns and he resumes sawing.

 

There was definitely something off about Bill. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to her, what had happened in her last settlement. She seemed oddly aloof, when he had cried in front of her she had just stared.  _ Maybe she was actually teasing me _ . No, she seemed curious at his response to her kind words more than anything else. “Ah, damn!”

 

Stan looks over at him clutching his finger. “You alright Mason?” 

“Ungrh”, blood pools from a fresh cut, running down his palm. The old man gently lifts up the his hand inspecting it. 

“You're fine Mason, it’s pretty shallow. But you must pay attention when using tools. They’re dangerous, it’s not unheard of for carpenters to be missing a finger or two.”

Dippers eyebrows raise “Your not missing any”, the old man fishes out some cloth from his apron and knots it tightly over the gash.

“I’ve been close as damn it” the Stan wiggles his fingers which have a multitude of scars upon them. Mason winces a little at this display, and feels his eyes close a second to long. Stan looks at him with concern when they reopen, “Mason, I didn’t notice before but you look...not well”.

 

_ Damn. _ He rubs his face with his able hand, breaking eye contact. “I had a little trouble sleeping last night” he hadn’t slept at all.

 

“This isn’t the kind of work to do half awake, go back to bed already. I’ll check on you when it’s super. You don’t want to lose any fingers yet”

 

______________

  
  


Their bedroom was odd, he hadn’t seen it this bright since their first day here. Each step felt heavy, and his head as if it was floating. He stripped unthinkingly of almost everything but his tunic. Leaving a crumpled trail to his bed. Mason burrowed into it, spine chilling cold still present, he could barely wiggle to try and warm himself. Sparks of pain struck him from the light of the triangular window. Weakly tugging the blankets he pulled them about his head, leaving his body barely covered. Sparkling, crawling, darkness surrounded him, each breath more humid and less satisfying. Lungs feeling needy he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

  
_ Warmth blossoms, surrounding him. One, two, three, four, five, six blue flickers eradicate hunger. His skin is hot and tight black grease dripping from it. Intoxicatingly warm and smooth. Red beneath his feet, scattered with thin lines. Dots seath up his legs, pulling his arms but they are chained. Itching, voices grating. His body buckles, his head meets soft earth. His cheeks are torn and weeping. Outside the flame a darkness in the darkness. Another is beside it. _


	9. Pacifica's Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mabel POV kids. This was actually so fun, I love writing Mabel, Dippers so mad and angsty.
> 
> Fluff warning...oh I was like giggling
> 
> I know these aren't great chapter titles, I just get lost really easily, so I hope these are useful.
> 
> Quicker than usual, since the prior chapter and this were originally one. But it was too stressful to edit all of it...so I broke it in two...I'm much happier with this. (This paragraph otherwise known as lol I don't usually update this quick, please don't expect me to update this fast. I love this but it's a night write)

_ Stitches are odd. _ Thread is so thin and delicate, unlike nails or mortar.  But it could still make a sculpture out of cloth. Wools from far off flocks, or rough hemp grown in tall fields. A second skin, a different status, a different person, or just abstracts of a single. 

Clothing said a lot, it had said she was dirt poor most of her life, destined to be a mother to stillborn children and a husband that would mistreat her.  _ Why am I a girl? _ Stan was kind, she thought he had been serious back at the dock when they had first met, letting her be his apprentice, like Mason. He hadn’t meant to be cruel when she had asked, but he just hadn’t understood that she was capable. She loved her brother, but she couldn’t help but feel a little resentful of his attitude, it must be hard. But it was also hard on her, she was tired and upset as well. More so even.

 

A knock, and then after a few moments, another. Waddles gave off an excited little squeal in her lap. Stan looked across the workshop, trying to shake oil off his fingers, “Mabel can you open the door, I’m...busy.”

“Sure Stan” she sighs dramatically and moves the piglet off her lap. Disentangling herself from the floor, and dusting off her skirts before placing her work on the nearest surface. Then looking back at Stan who had resumed sorting through oily nails.

 

“One moment” she shouts, going into the mainroom. Then to the front door. She fumbled with the latch not yet used to the contraption. They had just had a bar back in the cottage. Opening the door to a small blond girl outside.  _ I don’t remember Pacifica being that short _ . She stares dumbly at the girl a moment, with her long ashy hair and long dark cloak, oozing class. She couldn’t help but feel more conscious of her short hair and dusty oversized clothes. Looking down at her grotty dress, which was really a sheet and oversized tunic, giving it a extra pointless brush.

“Greetings Pines”, Mabel returning to the moment looked back up at Pacifica who was averting her gaze, standing awkwardly on the threshold. She seemed completely mismatched with the her dingy surrounding, radiating cleanliness and wealth.

Mabel cocked her head, trying to comprehend this visit, “Greetings?” Pacifica continued to look down. Mabel just stared at her. A long moment passed.

Eventually Pacifica looked up a little, still not meeting her eyes “Can I come in?”

Mabel couldn’t help but giggle a little at this coyness in stark contrast to their last encounter. Pacifica meets her eyes slightly offended and baffled. She manages to stop herself still grinning, “I’m sure you can”.

Pacifica passes the threshold careful to stand in the centre of room, equidistant from all the worn furniture.

“Who’s here Mabel?” comes from the workshop.

“Pacifica” she shouts back, “and we best be quiet else we’ll wake Mason!”, a little stab of checky guilt preceding her snark.  _ Stupid sleepy brother.  _ Ringing her hands at the jab she remembers Pacifica, “Oh yes, do you want to sit down?”

“Sure” Pacifica looks over at the bench, she dusts it with the edge of her hand, folding her skirts carefully so as to touch as little of the bench as possible, lifting her dirtied hand so it hovered above her lap. Mabel sat beside her unfazed. She shoots a smile over to the girl, “I’ve been making new clothes for me and my brother, you know from the bag you gave us. Thanks by the way”.

“Oh, I’m glad it’s been of some use. I’d rather see you looking smart than another grotty rag rug”

“Ha anything would be an improvement to be honest” she comically waved the makeshift sheet. Pacifica gives out a little titter, but looks back down at the floor. Mabel can see her cheeks flush a little, _ oops _ , “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude and upset you”.

“No, no you didn’t Mabel”, Pacifica looks up at her, still avoiding eye contact. Instead her gaze lingers on Mabel’s hairline,“What was it like, your hair? Before it was cut?”

“Oh a mess, mine and Mason’s were knotted to the heel and full of lice.”

Pacifica wrinkles her nose slightly at this meeting her gaze “Ergh lice!”

“Right I know...I know.” Mabel shacks head head in faux trauma. “But before, lets see, it was long, lighter too, than it is now, and a little bit wavy”. Mabel looks at Pacifica’s locks mournfully, “Not as nice as yours though”.

Pacifica smiles a little, “I’m sure it was very pretty, I can’t wait to see it when it’s grown again.”

“That’s ways off still” Mabel paws at the course short hair, feigned frown and puppy eyes.

The girl beside her snorts at this ridiculous display, immediately blushing covering her nose with her dirty hand, “I’m sure you’ll look very cute in a month or so” voice still unsteady with mirth.

Mabel's eyes grow to the size of saucers, “You mean I’m not cute now?”

The girl waves her hands frantically in front of her, “No. No...just...I’d bet you’d look really pretty with braids”.

A manic smile spreads on Mabel’s lips, eyes growing a little wider _. Oh dear. _ She then tries to hide it with her hand, voice going unnaturally high and strained, “Ooh Pacifica”. She presses her hand closer to her mouth, “Your face.”

Pacifica furrows her brows, tone becoming deadly serious,“What? What about it?”

“Hmm…” Mabel is visibly shaking, “It’s a bit” closing her mouth to stop the overwhelming laughter, “A bit dirty”.

 

A bucket of water later, the two sit back on the bench. Pacifica reasonably neat, if ruffled, and Mabel grinning besides her. She lets out a gentle titter and Pacifica shoots her a dirty look. She just smiles back benignly, “By the way Pacifica, why did you come here?”

The girl brightens up a little, “Oh, I almost forgot” she fishes under her cloak and pulls out a bundle of red cloth.  _ The dress. _

Mabel can’t help but look a little confused “Are you?”

“I want you to make a winter cloak, like you said before, from this” she presses the fabric into Mabel’s dumb hands.

She looks up at Pacifica a little worried, “I’d have to take apart the dress to do that, there should be enough material here, but are you sure you’re okay with me butchering it?”

Pacifica thinks for a long moment “I can’t wear it as it is now, it’s of no use to me as it is. I would like to have it though”.

Mabel examines the fabric, feeling its smoothness beneath her fingers and watching it catch the light. She sighs longingly and looks up at Pacifica “It’s a lovely dress, is it your mother’s? It looks...like nothing I’ve seen before”.

Her enthusiasm fades a little, breaking Mabel’s gaze,“She told me it was french”.

“Why doesn’t she want it anymore? Not to be rude, but to put it with worn out clothes in a sack?”

Pacifica looks down at the floor, “It’s not really worn anymore”.  _ What a waste. _

Mabel makes an effort to smile at this small tragedy, catching Pacifica’s eye. “Hmmm...okay, I’ve got plenty of ideas. I’ve never touched cloth like this before it’s very exciting!”, she pats the girl’s shoulder reassuringly.  Pacifica flinches a little, then relaxing when looking up at Mabel’s face.  _ Her mother must be worse than her father, she seems half scared to death.  _ Pacifica smiles wanly at her, “I’m glad, thank you Mabel. You’re a true friend.” Pacifica catches her hand a little hesitantly.

Mabel gives her hand a little squeeze, “It could be lovely with a fur trim, you know, ‘parently there are lots of fluffy animals up here” Pacifica’s smile fades a little.  _ Isn’t she pleased? _

The girl disentangles herself, smiling a little “Yes...that would be nice, I need to get back before my father knows I’m missing. But Mabel I have an old muff from when I was little maybe that could do? And if there was anything you needed I could keep an eye out for it”.

Mabel grins toothily, “Yeah that sounds perfect, thank you!” she embraces the girl and still feeling her tense slightly “Oh sorry, I hug very tightly”.

Pacifica mutters, “I...I don’t mind”.

 

______________

  
  


_ The flesh like snow beneath his fingers. He sinks into it, red consuming the narrow joints. One, two, three they go in. There is no bone, fat and skin easily tear away, leaving a gaping mouth in it’s face. It smells sweet. The sound of his teeth meeting each other unusually distant and soft. Thick lumps travel down his throat. Three figures sit opposite him, a man a woman and a child. He stares into his own eyes, but the child flinches away from his gaze. His black nail is scrapped along the side of the table, producing sparks, then flames. The corpse on it sets ablaze and the three are consumed. Tears leaking from the boys eyes. He can hear his teeth softly clacking together as he rumbles with mirth. _

 

It is very cold and dark. The long tunic clings to his skin, luminescent in the darkness, like sea foam. A slight creak can be heard outside, as a dull light enters the room. A shadowy figure behind it.

He lets out a scream,  _ no no no keep away _ .

 

“Dipper its me”

 

At Mabel’s voice, he feels his muscles slack a little.  As she steps closer her face becomes visible in the flickering light, “Are you okay? You’re white as milk Mason”. She puts the candle down on a shelf beside Stan’s carvings, bringing their faces to unnatural life.

He looks down at his hands, shining, sweat streaming down them, his hair is damp to. It was too hot,  _ too hot _ . Desperately racking his fingers through his short hair trying to cool himself down a little. 

“It’s so warm, to warm, Mabel I can’t it’s too hot. I’m just” burning tears trickle down his face, retracting into himself, “I can’t bear it”. 

A low whine comes from him as he claws his scalp. His arms are grabbed, pulled up by icy clamps, he could barely resist.

His sister’s eyes are wide but tone even, he is writhing in her grasp. “Dipper...shh...shh. I need you to stay calm”.

He squirms desperately, “You're so cold you're burning me”. He tries to work his way free, even though he is slippery she is like a vice.

Her face twitches a little with effort, turning it to face the open doorway, “Stan! Stan! Get in here quick!” There is no reply, Mabel grates her teeth with annoyance, shout still ringing in Mason’s ears. “Robber in the house! Oh my goodness he’s taking everything!”

Almost instantly there was a clatter from downstairs. Then quick footsteps approaching their room. The door was flung wide open, the candle light caught Stan brandishing a saw. “Where is he Mabel? I’ll get him!” Stan looks around wildly for a moment trying to spot the alleged thief.

Mason has to close his eyes, all this information overwhelming him. 

“There’s no robber Stan, Di...Mason’s ill, I think he has a fever. He’s burning up.”

Heavy steps get louder, he manages to open his eyes to see Stan staring at him intently. Face unreadable. Mabel glances from him to her brother, not sure if she can ignore either. “I need to get something to cool him down with Stan.” Looking at the old man pointedly, “But you need to make sure he can’t hurt himself, he was scratching his head a moment ago...and look”

A few small dribbles of blood crawl down the boy’s pale face, mingling with sweat. He can’t help but shiver uncontrollably, exposed to the cold air as he is. “Please, please let me go...I...I was dreaming...terrible things. I’m awake now Mabel.” he pleas with her. She looks into his eyes, judging him and loosens her grip. He gathers his hands in his lap, wrists a little sore.

Stan looks over to her, and Mason. Concern etching his face, “I’ll get the things Mabel, I have a little willow bark too which I’ll find. But keep a little distance will you, you don’t want to get sick too”.

 

______________

  
  
She doesn’t sleep, although she can feel it weighing heavily on her lids. Some sort of deep primal fear keeps jerking her awake, eyes fixed on her brother. Lying in his damp sheets, the hay of the mattress permeating the air, along with musk and urine.  _ Oh Dipper, Dipper, Dipper. _ She would cry if she could, but her eyes are sore and achingly dry.  _ Why now, now we have a new home, why does this always happen?  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, poor dipping sauce
> 
> and the plot/pot thickens...
> 
> But OMG Mabel is such a joy, I just feel in a really good place when I write her. I always want more Mabel in my BillDip; she gets killed off so much, or is just a trash person (I love her more than Dipper).
> 
> #whenyouarethedippersiblingthereforitistoocloseforcomfort
> 
> Also I own Gravity Falls, and Disney, and the world *jokes, is sued, dies in poverty*


End file.
